For the first time that year, Durnehviir tasted the promise of Autumn in the air. It came in the form of the crisp start to a new day, in the bold orange sun as it rose into a pastel sky littered with fluffy cirrus, in cool dew clinging to the foliage. The bright-eyed Frostfur exhaled softly as she looked out from her viewpoint on Shadow Mountain, where she'd spent a final night in the company of her travelling companion.
In the absence of her mother and brothers, her uncle Viinturuth had loved and raised her the best he knew how to. Despite his longing to reacquaint Paarthurnax with the daughter he knew she'd be missing sorely, he always respected his niece's reluctance to go home. Instead of insisting she look beyond her fear, he let her travel with him and she'd thrived in his care. The pain of her losses was something she'd always carry with her, but Durnehviir did not regret her decision to follow Viinturuth.
She returned to the last cave they'd ever share with the last breakfast they'd split together to find the dark Frostfur still asleep. Her pale eyes lingered on his greying features for a moment: at seven years of age, Viinturuth was considerably slower than when they'd first found each other. He deserved to retire peacefully, somewhere quiet and while he still had some life in him to contribute something to the pack of his choosing. Although she wished she could keep him close forever, Durnehviir knew in her heart that she could not drag her uncle around the Teekon so she could chase ghosts. She could have settled with him, she knew, but as Durnehviir grew from adolescent to adult, developed a longing of her own that she felt she had to pursue.
Their farewell was heartbreaking, and she broke her promise to herself that she wouldn't cry as she watched her raven-furred uncle descend so far down the mountainside until he was entirely out of sight. Tears stung her eyes as she turned in the opposite direction toward the place of her birth: Swiftcurrent Creek.
Not surprisingly, Durnehviir found nothing. There were no familiar scents, not even any sign that another pack had claimed the land. As though she had a built in homing device, the russet Frostfur found herself at the entrance of a small hollow that set her heart aflutter. With timid curiosity she tiptoed closer to the burrow she'd been born in, afraid of what she might find but already knowing there would be nothing of value to her search.
The den smelled of damp, and the young she-wolf shivered despite the midday heat. The warmth and scents she remembered so vividly from infancy were long gone, the floor littered with debris (a flood, perhaps?). Durnehviir stared into this dark void, a hole in the earth, and felt her hope begin to wilt.
She hadn't been expecting anything, but at the same time expected something. A tuft of her mother's fur, that silvery pebble she and Relonikiv could never share, the bright white feather she could've chased for hours. A sign from a sibling, maybe, anything that said I'm here, and I'm looking for you too.
Durnehviir scraped at the hollow's entrance with her front paws, and pressed her shoulder against the wall to leave her scent. Loose fur from her coat clung to the dense earth and stone there, breadcrumbs should any curious relative decide to take a trip down memory lane. Durnehviir left the densite as her emotion began to swell again, and she jogged briskly in the direction of the Southeastern border with no destination in mind.
In the absence of her mother and brothers, her uncle Viinturuth had loved and raised her the best he knew how to. Despite his longing to reacquaint Paarthurnax with the daughter he knew she'd be missing sorely, he always respected his niece's reluctance to go home. Instead of insisting she look beyond her fear, he let her travel with him and she'd thrived in his care. The pain of her losses was something she'd always carry with her, but Durnehviir did not regret her decision to follow Viinturuth.
She returned to the last cave they'd ever share with the last breakfast they'd split together to find the dark Frostfur still asleep. Her pale eyes lingered on his greying features for a moment: at seven years of age, Viinturuth was considerably slower than when they'd first found each other. He deserved to retire peacefully, somewhere quiet and while he still had some life in him to contribute something to the pack of his choosing. Although she wished she could keep him close forever, Durnehviir knew in her heart that she could not drag her uncle around the Teekon so she could chase ghosts. She could have settled with him, she knew, but as Durnehviir grew from adolescent to adult, developed a longing of her own that she felt she had to pursue.
Their farewell was heartbreaking, and she broke her promise to herself that she wouldn't cry as she watched her raven-furred uncle descend so far down the mountainside until he was entirely out of sight. Tears stung her eyes as she turned in the opposite direction toward the place of her birth: Swiftcurrent Creek.
Not surprisingly, Durnehviir found nothing. There were no familiar scents, not even any sign that another pack had claimed the land. As though she had a built in homing device, the russet Frostfur found herself at the entrance of a small hollow that set her heart aflutter. With timid curiosity she tiptoed closer to the burrow she'd been born in, afraid of what she might find but already knowing there would be nothing of value to her search.
The den smelled of damp, and the young she-wolf shivered despite the midday heat. The warmth and scents she remembered so vividly from infancy were long gone, the floor littered with debris (a flood, perhaps?). Durnehviir stared into this dark void, a hole in the earth, and felt her hope begin to wilt.
She hadn't been expecting anything, but at the same time expected something. A tuft of her mother's fur, that silvery pebble she and Relonikiv could never share, the bright white feather she could've chased for hours. A sign from a sibling, maybe, anything that said I'm here, and I'm looking for you too.
Durnehviir scraped at the hollow's entrance with her front paws, and pressed her shoulder against the wall to leave her scent. Loose fur from her coat clung to the dense earth and stone there, breadcrumbs should any curious relative decide to take a trip down memory lane. Durnehviir left the densite as her emotion began to swell again, and she jogged briskly in the direction of the Southeastern border with no destination in mind.
« Next Oldest | Next Newest »
Messages In This Thread
Believe, believe, the dragonborn comes. - by Durnehviir - August 21, 2017, 08:14 AM